Fic: The Handsome Stranger (Part 1 of ?) - WIP
Last night I watched The Vicar of Dibley, which was great fun. So much fun that I just had to pinch some of the plot and write a little H/D. *grins*.
I, therefore, present the first part of something currently called The Handsome Stranger, though that might change if I can come up with a better title. Viewers of "The Vicar of Dibley" might recognise some of this, thus my disclaimer is as follows: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Some ideas and comments are based on "The Vicar of Dibley" produced by the BBC.
Summary The war is over, Voldemort is dead and Harry gets on with his life. Six years later a stranger turns up at the Ottery St Catchpole Christmas Party.
Warnings Fluff ... lots and lots of fluff ... and sweetness ... so much sweetness you'll need to clean your teeth. Oh, and later there will be smut, but not yet.
The Handsome Stranger
Chapter One ... Arrival
The little village of Ottery St Catchpole had changed a lot since Harry Potter’s first visit there during the summer of 1992. Back then only a few Wizarding families had lived there -- the Weasleys, of course, the Lovegoods, the Fawcetts and the Diggory family who lived a few miles away. Now the village was almost exclusively Wizard, much like Hogsmeade had once been before Voldemort had wiped it off the face of the world.
As Muggles sold up and moved out, magical folk moved in. To start with, it had been mainly Weasleys. Bill and Fleur took over what had once been the old post office, while Ron and Hermione bought a little thatched cottage on the banks of the River Otter. Charlie lived not far from the Burrow with a Rumanian Dragon Chaser by the name of Yousef and Percy had a nice little country retreat that he used at weekends when he wasn’t working on Ministry business in London. Some things never change.
Fred had married Angelina Johnson, but he never got over the loss of his twin. They ran The Otter’s Rest, the cosy village pub. Molly helped run the little pub restaurant but she still lived at the Burrow and every Sunday would host a huge family lunch for her offspring and their ever-growing families (there were currently six grandchildren). She still grieved for Arthur and would often been seen surreptitiously looking at his photograph when she didn’t think others were looking.
And Ginny?
Well, Ginny had shared a house with Harry for a while as everyone waited for them to name the day. Molly spent her spare time making plan for her only daughter’s Big Day while all the time Harry and Ginny really were just ‘sharing’ the house. Oh, they’d tried to have a relationship, but neither could reignite the passion that had been between them in that heady spring and summer of 1996. When Harry announced to Ginny that he was gay, she had merely shrugged and told him she’d known all along. She finally married Esmond, a French wizard friend of Fleur’s who’d fought with them in the war, and it had been Harry who had given her away.
Which had left Harry effectively homeless. Of course Ginny had said he could carry on living in Keeper’s Cottage, but the last thing Harry wanted to do was play gooseberry to the newly married couple -- and beside Esmond was rather attractive in a blond-haired blue-eyed way and Harry found himself staring just a little too much. Molly tried to get him to move in with her but he felt that if he did he’d never get away again.
He considered buying Squirrel’s Leap; the last Muggle-owned house in the village, but by the time he’d made up his mind it had already been sold. So he went back to living in London and sleeping in guest rooms at the weekend while bouncing other people’s babies on his knee and wondering if he’d ever meet someone who’d want to share his life.
Which was how he’d found himself roped into playing Santa Claus for the village school Christmas party and why he currently had Virginia Longbottom on his knee reciting the longest list of presents Harry had ever heard in his life.
The costume was heavy, the beard itched, and the room was so warm that he was just beginning to wonder if he might pass out and dump Neville’s precious daughter on the floor when the main door opened, allowing a blast of cold winter air into the school hall.
Harry still nearly dropped Virginia because an angel had walked into the hall. Draped in a long grey travel cloak, face framed by white-blond hair, the angel glanced about him. Harry found his mouth suddenly dry and he wanted to tug at the troublesome beard in an attempt to get some air into his lungs.
Later -- much later when he was no longer surrounded by children whose belief in Santa would have been shattered in ten seconds if he’d taken off the beard -- when he was on his own, he relived that moment. Of how a handsome stranger had walked into Ottery St. Catchpole’s school hall and stolen his heart.
Of course, the moment that tall, blond stranger stole his heart, Harry hadn’t recognised the thief. All he saw was the angel and the body and the hair and the confidence the man radiated even in a room full of strangers. If it had been the other way round, Harry would have hovered at the entrance torn between staying and leaving.
He watched as Hermione crossed to the stranger and shook him by the hand, only looking away when Virginia had tugged at his sleeve and asked for her present, and when he’d looked back up again, his angel had disappeared into the melee of grown-ups clearing up the children’s party tea.
Deciding he’d been mistaken and the angel some sort of hallucination brought on by heat and beards, Harry returned to the eager children.
Then, as he handed out the final gift from his sack to Millicent’s son, Colin, he looked up to find another child he’d never seen in the village before.
The boy must have been four or five years old and he looked at Harry with such serious grey/blue eyes all Harry wanted to do was make him laugh. The child suddenly stuck his thumb in his mouth and leaned against a leg, side-stepping around it until he was behind the owner.
Long fingers reached for the boy’s blond head and in soft, rich tones chided. “Come on, Arlen, it’s only Santa.” The man crouched down and Harry nearly fell off his chair.
Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was here in the school hall; his arm around a little boy who Harry could now see was a mirror image.
Then Draco Malfoy looked up at him and smiled, and Harry realised this was the angel who’d stolen his heart. He found himself getting hot again, the flush threatened to be redder than the costume he was currently wearing.
Draco Malfoy, who Harry had spent six years hating at Hogwarts, only to fall hopelessly in love with when Malfoy changed sides and joined the Order of the Phoenix. Of course, Harry had never told Malfoy that and he’d spent his time watching Malfoy from afar totally unaware that others saw the lust and hopefulness in his eyes.
Then, when the war ended and Harry thought he could finally admit his feelings, Malfoy had moved abroad to Finland where his mother had lived out the war and that was the last Harry had seen or heard of his one-time nemesis. Until now, six years later.
Pulling himself together, Harry looked from child to adult and back to the child. Was this Draco’s son? Was there a wife waiting somewhere in the wings. And why was he back here now after all this time?
The long-forgotten infatuation, which had threatened to overwhelm Harry again, was pushed quickly away. The rumours all those years ago were that Draco was gay, but if he had a child then that clearly wasn’t the case. Harry couldn’t decide whether he was disappointed or not. After all, Draco had never shown any interest in him when he’d followed the man around like some sort of lovesick puppy.
Taking a calming breath, he leaned toward the little boy. “So, your name’s Arlen.”
****
Harry had finally to rid himself of the costume when he came across Malfoy again. The other man was standing near to a group of Weasleys while Arlen played with the gift Harry had magicked into his otherwise empty sack. It was clear that everyone wanted to know what Draco was doing in Ottery St. Catchpole but were too polite to ask. Molly was currently occupied with her grandchildren or Harry was sure she’d be there giving the Handsome Stranger the third degree.
He was just enjoying being able to look at the other man when Draco suddenly stared at him as if aware of the scrutiny. He liked to think that there was a look of surprised pleasure in those grey eyes, but Harry quickly decided that was just wishful thinking. Subconsciously smoothing down his shirt and running a hand through his hair in a pointless effort to tidy it, he crossed to the other man.
“Malfoy.” Harry held out his hand, which was taken in a firm, warm grip. He held on for longer than might be considered polite and the warmth of the touch seeped into his skin.
“Potter.” Draco leaned close. “So it was you playing Santa. I would never have guessed.” Breath puffed on Harry’s ear. “Thanks for Arlen’s present. I told him there probably wouldn’t be one left as we were so late.”
Harry shrugged, surprised at how easy it was to talk to the man, as if they hadn’t been apart for six years. “It was transfigured from a piece of ribbon so I can’t guarantee how long it will last.” He finally let go of the hand. “Um. I didn’t know you were back in Britain. Are you visiting or...?” The question was left dangling and at first Harry didn’t think Draco would answer.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’ve just bought Squirrel’s Leap. Millicent told me about the school here for young Wizarding children and it seemed like the ideal place for Arlen.” He looked around at the three-dozen children all from Wizarding families and all living within easy reach of the school. “Are you involved?”
“Me? No. Well, not really. I do a story-telling group once a week. Hermione’s good at roping everyone in. You wait; she’ll get you if you don’t run fast enough.” The look Draco gave him was so intense that Harry felt heat pooling low in his body. This really wasn’t the time or place for past fantasies to resurface. “Um... I nearly bought Squirrel’s Leap.”
“Oh? I was under the impression you lived here.”
“No ... no, I’ve still got my flat in London. But I’m down here most weekends scrounging a bed for the night.”
“Well.” Draco stared at him again, this time those grey eyes roving down to Harry’s feet and then taking a long, leisurely journey back up his body before resting on his face. Harry hoped the heat in his cheeks wasn’t actually showing on the surface. “I have a very comfortable couch if you ever need somewhere to rest your weary bones.”
----
Chapter Two ... Number One Detective Agency
I, therefore, present the first part of something currently called The Handsome Stranger, though that might change if I can come up with a better title. Viewers of "The Vicar of Dibley" might recognise some of this, thus my disclaimer is as follows: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Some ideas and comments are based on "The Vicar of Dibley" produced by the BBC.
Summary The war is over, Voldemort is dead and Harry gets on with his life. Six years later a stranger turns up at the Ottery St Catchpole Christmas Party.
Warnings Fluff ... lots and lots of fluff ... and sweetness ... so much sweetness you'll need to clean your teeth. Oh, and later there will be smut, but not yet.
The Handsome Stranger
Chapter One ... Arrival
The little village of Ottery St Catchpole had changed a lot since Harry Potter’s first visit there during the summer of 1992. Back then only a few Wizarding families had lived there -- the Weasleys, of course, the Lovegoods, the Fawcetts and the Diggory family who lived a few miles away. Now the village was almost exclusively Wizard, much like Hogsmeade had once been before Voldemort had wiped it off the face of the world.
As Muggles sold up and moved out, magical folk moved in. To start with, it had been mainly Weasleys. Bill and Fleur took over what had once been the old post office, while Ron and Hermione bought a little thatched cottage on the banks of the River Otter. Charlie lived not far from the Burrow with a Rumanian Dragon Chaser by the name of Yousef and Percy had a nice little country retreat that he used at weekends when he wasn’t working on Ministry business in London. Some things never change.
Fred had married Angelina Johnson, but he never got over the loss of his twin. They ran The Otter’s Rest, the cosy village pub. Molly helped run the little pub restaurant but she still lived at the Burrow and every Sunday would host a huge family lunch for her offspring and their ever-growing families (there were currently six grandchildren). She still grieved for Arthur and would often been seen surreptitiously looking at his photograph when she didn’t think others were looking.
And Ginny?
Well, Ginny had shared a house with Harry for a while as everyone waited for them to name the day. Molly spent her spare time making plan for her only daughter’s Big Day while all the time Harry and Ginny really were just ‘sharing’ the house. Oh, they’d tried to have a relationship, but neither could reignite the passion that had been between them in that heady spring and summer of 1996. When Harry announced to Ginny that he was gay, she had merely shrugged and told him she’d known all along. She finally married Esmond, a French wizard friend of Fleur’s who’d fought with them in the war, and it had been Harry who had given her away.
Which had left Harry effectively homeless. Of course Ginny had said he could carry on living in Keeper’s Cottage, but the last thing Harry wanted to do was play gooseberry to the newly married couple -- and beside Esmond was rather attractive in a blond-haired blue-eyed way and Harry found himself staring just a little too much. Molly tried to get him to move in with her but he felt that if he did he’d never get away again.
He considered buying Squirrel’s Leap; the last Muggle-owned house in the village, but by the time he’d made up his mind it had already been sold. So he went back to living in London and sleeping in guest rooms at the weekend while bouncing other people’s babies on his knee and wondering if he’d ever meet someone who’d want to share his life.
Which was how he’d found himself roped into playing Santa Claus for the village school Christmas party and why he currently had Virginia Longbottom on his knee reciting the longest list of presents Harry had ever heard in his life.
The costume was heavy, the beard itched, and the room was so warm that he was just beginning to wonder if he might pass out and dump Neville’s precious daughter on the floor when the main door opened, allowing a blast of cold winter air into the school hall.
Harry still nearly dropped Virginia because an angel had walked into the hall. Draped in a long grey travel cloak, face framed by white-blond hair, the angel glanced about him. Harry found his mouth suddenly dry and he wanted to tug at the troublesome beard in an attempt to get some air into his lungs.
Later -- much later when he was no longer surrounded by children whose belief in Santa would have been shattered in ten seconds if he’d taken off the beard -- when he was on his own, he relived that moment. Of how a handsome stranger had walked into Ottery St. Catchpole’s school hall and stolen his heart.
Of course, the moment that tall, blond stranger stole his heart, Harry hadn’t recognised the thief. All he saw was the angel and the body and the hair and the confidence the man radiated even in a room full of strangers. If it had been the other way round, Harry would have hovered at the entrance torn between staying and leaving.
He watched as Hermione crossed to the stranger and shook him by the hand, only looking away when Virginia had tugged at his sleeve and asked for her present, and when he’d looked back up again, his angel had disappeared into the melee of grown-ups clearing up the children’s party tea.
Deciding he’d been mistaken and the angel some sort of hallucination brought on by heat and beards, Harry returned to the eager children.
Then, as he handed out the final gift from his sack to Millicent’s son, Colin, he looked up to find another child he’d never seen in the village before.
The boy must have been four or five years old and he looked at Harry with such serious grey/blue eyes all Harry wanted to do was make him laugh. The child suddenly stuck his thumb in his mouth and leaned against a leg, side-stepping around it until he was behind the owner.
Long fingers reached for the boy’s blond head and in soft, rich tones chided. “Come on, Arlen, it’s only Santa.” The man crouched down and Harry nearly fell off his chair.
Draco Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was here in the school hall; his arm around a little boy who Harry could now see was a mirror image.
Then Draco Malfoy looked up at him and smiled, and Harry realised this was the angel who’d stolen his heart. He found himself getting hot again, the flush threatened to be redder than the costume he was currently wearing.
Draco Malfoy, who Harry had spent six years hating at Hogwarts, only to fall hopelessly in love with when Malfoy changed sides and joined the Order of the Phoenix. Of course, Harry had never told Malfoy that and he’d spent his time watching Malfoy from afar totally unaware that others saw the lust and hopefulness in his eyes.
Then, when the war ended and Harry thought he could finally admit his feelings, Malfoy had moved abroad to Finland where his mother had lived out the war and that was the last Harry had seen or heard of his one-time nemesis. Until now, six years later.
Pulling himself together, Harry looked from child to adult and back to the child. Was this Draco’s son? Was there a wife waiting somewhere in the wings. And why was he back here now after all this time?
The long-forgotten infatuation, which had threatened to overwhelm Harry again, was pushed quickly away. The rumours all those years ago were that Draco was gay, but if he had a child then that clearly wasn’t the case. Harry couldn’t decide whether he was disappointed or not. After all, Draco had never shown any interest in him when he’d followed the man around like some sort of lovesick puppy.
Taking a calming breath, he leaned toward the little boy. “So, your name’s Arlen.”
****
Harry had finally to rid himself of the costume when he came across Malfoy again. The other man was standing near to a group of Weasleys while Arlen played with the gift Harry had magicked into his otherwise empty sack. It was clear that everyone wanted to know what Draco was doing in Ottery St. Catchpole but were too polite to ask. Molly was currently occupied with her grandchildren or Harry was sure she’d be there giving the Handsome Stranger the third degree.
He was just enjoying being able to look at the other man when Draco suddenly stared at him as if aware of the scrutiny. He liked to think that there was a look of surprised pleasure in those grey eyes, but Harry quickly decided that was just wishful thinking. Subconsciously smoothing down his shirt and running a hand through his hair in a pointless effort to tidy it, he crossed to the other man.
“Malfoy.” Harry held out his hand, which was taken in a firm, warm grip. He held on for longer than might be considered polite and the warmth of the touch seeped into his skin.
“Potter.” Draco leaned close. “So it was you playing Santa. I would never have guessed.” Breath puffed on Harry’s ear. “Thanks for Arlen’s present. I told him there probably wouldn’t be one left as we were so late.”
Harry shrugged, surprised at how easy it was to talk to the man, as if they hadn’t been apart for six years. “It was transfigured from a piece of ribbon so I can’t guarantee how long it will last.” He finally let go of the hand. “Um. I didn’t know you were back in Britain. Are you visiting or...?” The question was left dangling and at first Harry didn’t think Draco would answer.
Draco raised an eyebrow. “I’ve just bought Squirrel’s Leap. Millicent told me about the school here for young Wizarding children and it seemed like the ideal place for Arlen.” He looked around at the three-dozen children all from Wizarding families and all living within easy reach of the school. “Are you involved?”
“Me? No. Well, not really. I do a story-telling group once a week. Hermione’s good at roping everyone in. You wait; she’ll get you if you don’t run fast enough.” The look Draco gave him was so intense that Harry felt heat pooling low in his body. This really wasn’t the time or place for past fantasies to resurface. “Um... I nearly bought Squirrel’s Leap.”
“Oh? I was under the impression you lived here.”
“No ... no, I’ve still got my flat in London. But I’m down here most weekends scrounging a bed for the night.”
“Well.” Draco stared at him again, this time those grey eyes roving down to Harry’s feet and then taking a long, leisurely journey back up his body before resting on his face. Harry hoped the heat in his cheeks wasn’t actually showing on the surface. “I have a very comfortable couch if you ever need somewhere to rest your weary bones.”
----
Chapter Two ... Number One Detective Agency